


Red Hot/Icy Fresh

by kat8cha



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat8cha/pseuds/kat8cha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's got issues. Issue number one, he's in love, issue number two, Coulson is clueless. Coulson has issues. Issue number one, Clint Barton, issue number two, Phil is clueless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Hot

**Author's Note:**

> This is two PoVs of the same situation.

He'd started with the usual bribes; lunch and coffee. Usually lunch or a good cup of coffee would get him at least five minutes of conversation and once the groundwork was established he could gradually expand upon those five minutes until he was soon getting a half hour of conversation and after that sleeping with the other person was easier than finding out their favorite kind of coffee and bringing it to them without seeming like a stalker. Lunch and coffee were a hit with Coulson… as much as getting give minutes of conversation and then told to go finish his paperwork could be called a hit. He started to up the ante, snacks (he knew Coulson loved snacks), late night coffee, even a home-made dinner once. The last one had gotten Clint a good solid half an hour before paperwork had sung its siren song yet again.

It wasn't that Clint couldn't understand it. In his book paperwork was a necessary evil and the Avengers initiative generated _a lot_ of it so Coulson was doing his superhero part by wrestling the paperwork monster into submission. Clint got it, he did. But he'd never taken this long to seduce someone before and the only reason he was even trying was to get the ridiculous _crush_ he'd developed out of his system.

The crush had started about two months after he had first joined SHIELD. Coulson wasn't Clint's usual type, Clint always managed to pick heartbreaking beauties of either sex, but there was something about the man that had drawn Clint in. Maybe it was the air of mystery that surrounded the agent, not quite James Bond but instead very Clark Kent. The fact that Coulson could (and would) kick his ass in a sparring session proved there was a Superman under those well-tailored but dull suits. The fact that Clint had a thing for authority figures (as well as issues with authority) cemented the crush after one too many missions with Coulson's voice in his ear while he sat silent and observant in a sniper's nest.

But it had really stepped up once the Avenger's Initiative started. He'd realized he was _jealous_ of the attention that Coulson paid to the other Avengers. He didn't want Coulson cleaning up Tony Stark's messes or hovering over the surveillance videos of Banner or doing all of that godforsaken paperwork. He missed when he was the only agent that Coulson had to track down to debrief. So, seeing as he was beginning to realize his crush was probably something more, Clint had turned to Natasha.

 _Clint sat heavily down on the couch beside Natasha. Most SHIELD issue offices came with a desk and uncomfortable desk chair, if you were a big leaguer they came with a chair or two across from your desk. Most of the agents who had been around over a year learned how to trade out their chairs for better ones, either sneaking in contraband or trading for it. Natasha was the only member of SHIELD to have a plush leather couch in her office. Clint had helped her carry it in about two months after their partnership began._

 _And no one was going to tell **Natasha** to remove it. _

_"I think I'm in love." Clint said, his tone both surprised and despairing. "'tasha, I'm in love."_

 _Natasha laughed, which should have been expected, but stopped short at the affronted look on Clint's face. "...you're serious." She turned and placed the back of her hand against Clint's forehead. "Well, you're not feverish."_

 _"Oh c'mon." Clint pushed Natasha's hand away and sighed. "I'm in love. It's... well, it's kind of like an illness. I want to vomit words." Stupid words, too. He wanted to compliment Phil on his tie, or recite poetry. Roses are red, violets are blue, I'd really like to **** with you. He couldn't stop himself from saying 'hello' when he passed Coulson in the hallway, anymore. Every time Coulson talked quietly with some member of the Avengers or another it was all Clint could do not to eavesdrop or interrupt. "I think it's going to kill me."_

 _"I read somewhere that love makes you live longer." Natasha provided, utterly unhelpful. She leaned against Clint's side and Clint, ever the gentleman, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hauled her close for more constructive cuddling. "Although in our line of work…"_

 _"And with the person I'm in love with…" Love wasn't a new emotion to Clinton Francis Barton. He'd experienced lust and even the faintest hints of love from his pre-teen years. Despite his chosen weapon Clint was almost always the person to be hit by Cupid's arrow instead of the other way around, and when Clint fell in love he fell in love **hard**. His relationship with Natasha had been destined for heartbreak the first time that they'd set eyes on each other, as much as 'tasha could and did love him she wasn't the type of woman to fall **in** love easily. And now there was Coulson… Clint was so screwed._

 _"Well, you know what you have to do." Natasha shoved lightly (for her anyway which meant it wouldn't bruise much) on Clint's shoulder, he fell over the couch edge and blinked up at her from the floor. "Go sleep with him and get it out of your system. If you moon over him in the field and get shot I'll be the one forced to clean up the mess."_

So, since Natasha usually had the right idea, Clint decided to follow her advice. _Sadly_ seducing Coulson was just as hard as it looked and far harder than Natasha had made it sound. The man was married to his work. When Clint _was_ the work he didn't mind but when he was trying to distract Coulson from the work he found he had… problems he had to deal with. Coulson slept four hours a night, eight if somehow he managed to get time off and there weren't any superhero battles or supervillain attempts to destroy the Earth that day. In between that sleep time (taken in one of the utterly homey apartments SHIELD provided for its assets) he worked more house than even Fury. It made finding a time for seduction increasingly hard. Coulson didn't even seem to notice that he was _trying_. It was starting to get a little frustrating, to be honest.

It was probably desperation that drove him to do what he did next. Desperation and a combination of too much coffee (Fury had banned Clint from drinking coffee when he had a mission because it made him jittery and a little unbalanced but everyone on base drank coffee to get through paperwork), too little sleep, and painkillers for the bruises blossoming on his ribs from yesterday's fight. Doing what he did was just plain crazy not to mention blatantly violating SHIELD's rules on acceptable conduct in the workplace and probably making Clint into a slut since he was planning on sleeping with Coulson without even going on a first date.

He had carefully set the piles of paperwork around Coulson's desk during one of the few bathroom breaks that the man took. He'd worked quickly because there was no telling when Coulson would be back and quietly because he didn't want anyone outside the room to peek in. After he'd set the paperwork down he placed his own small stack on the desk and stripped and folded his uniform. Then he lay down on the desk in nothing but a jockstrap and began to write on the dotted line, date, sign, and initial a variety of papers. The desk was a little too small for Clint to lie on any way that looked anything short of ridiculous. He could have laid on his front with his legs folded at the knee, swinging like some sort of popstar-pornstar and only needing tube socks to look more ridiculous, or curled up on his side facing the door. He could have lain on his back with the paperwork propped on his knees or just sat up. He chose to go with the side approach even though it gave him a crick in his neck and made his ribs ache.

The door swung open.

"…Barton." It was rare to see Coulson even mildly flustered but he was definitely past 'mild' and onto medium at this point. He stepped inside and closed the door quickly behind him as if he was afraid someone would pass by and see. "What are you doing?"

Clint had an answer prepped for that inevitable question. "Paperwork." He dotted an I and crossed a T before he licked his thumb and flipped the page. Coulson continued to stare at him with one hand on the doorknob and his back pressed against the door, Clint glanced between paperwork and the other agent and found that Coulson's lips had thinned into a disapproving line.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Barton, but I won't take part-" That sounded like a tirade ready to happen. And game? He wasn't playing a game! Clint sat up, legs swinging over the desk and narrowly missing one of the stacks of files that he had been so careful to put down. "-But I want no part of it. Please tell Agent Romanoff that her joke is in poor taste."

"Whoa, wait, what does Natasha have to do with it? And this isn't a joke." Well, okay, being naked and stretched out on a desk with his ribs wrapped up and high on painkillers and coffee probably made _him_ a joke but the whole seduction thing wasn't.

Coulson looked… angry, which was _weird_ because Coulson rarely looked more than mildly displeased. It took him two strides to grab the pile of Clint's folded clothes and one to bring him right up to the desk. "Do not try to play dumb with me, Barton, now get dressed and-"

Desperation, drugs, coffee, the fact he'd only been sleeping with Mrs. Palm and her five lovely sisters… Clint grabbed hold of Coulson's dry-clean only lapels and pulled him into a kiss. The kiss was chaste, Clint's partially opened mouth against Coulson's closed one, and their bodies were separated by the fistful of clothes in Coulson's hand for a second before suddenly there were warm calloused hands on Clint's shoulders and a mouth opening up over his.

The kiss didn't last long at all, if eternity can be considered short anyway, and soon Coulson pushed Clint away and pulled back. "We can't do this here." Coulson glanced down at the piles of paperwork all around his desk and then he looked into Clint's eyes. "You'll make a mess."

" _I'll_ make a mess?" Clint felt he had to protest. He did, after all, have a reputation for rocking worlds to keep. "We'll need someplace soundproof from all the noise _you'll_ be making."

"Mm." Coulson considered Clint, the piles of paperwork, the formerly neat stack of clothes now crumpled at their feet, and then he pushed Clint slightly to the side so he could sink to his knees. "We'll see about that." A hot wet mouth pressing against his dick through the fabric of his jock had never felt so good. Neither had fingers underneath the elastic, or a cold hard desk under his bare ass that was eventually replaced by warm hands when Coulson dragged him forward so they could rock against each other.

Thankfully, neither of them was loud enough to alert SHIELD's security to anything untoward (although Natasha may have played a small part in routing the personnel away from Coulson's office). Clint had fallen asleep on Coulson's shoulder shortly afterwards and woke up in one of SHIELD's featureless apartments which was still, distinctly, not his. This was a realization that he came by primarily because his sheets tended to be dark colors to hide stains better and because his nose was pressed into the warm crook of Coulson's neck.

Who, it should be noted, smelled like cinnamon.


	2. Icy Fresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson's PoV

Phil Coulson knew what it meant when a junior agent started to bring you food. There were a couple of possibilities, some more likely than others. Sometimes the agent was just attempting to show their appreciation and thought that bribes would be the best way, more often than not the agent was either buttering you up or apologizing for breaking something that you don't know about yet (hence the buttering up). With Barton, Coulson had a feeling it would be the latter. Still, there was nothing wrong with accepting coffee, snacks, lunch, and on one memorable occasion a late night dinner, from a subordinate. The coffee was good (just the blend he liked actually) and the food kept him from making mistakes due to low blood sugar and they were healthier than what Coulson would normally have eaten (anything from a vending machine was good enough in Coulson's opinion while Barton tended to shop at Farmer's Markets and tiny out of the way indie stores). As nothing was ever brought up and Barton didn't seem to ever wish to tell him what was going on Coulson felt that he should, preemptively, nose around.

It was a bad idea, of course.

It always was with Barton.

Coulson wasn't sure when he began to feel things towards Hawkeye that he shouldn't. It might have been the minute he laid eyes on the archer, although Coulson doubts it. Before the feelings for Barton had developed he'd never really… felt the sexual pull of a human being. Oh, he'd had sex but it had been devoid of passion and done because you were _supposed_ to have sex. There had been his highschool sweetheart (they'd lost their virginities to each other awkwardly in the backseat of his father's car and broken up a month later), two girls in college (who had taught him tricks to satisfy them but had never truly satisfied him), and three boys (he'd thought for a while that perhaps he was gay but none of the boys had sparked a romantic or sexual spark). After that Coulson had decided that he would stop pushing it and wait.

And so he waited, and waited, and waited. Work within the government kept him busy, he had a few romantic relationships that were formed out of mutual convenience and never passed into the bedroom, but primarily he worked. Work with SHIELD was of course a whole other ballgame. He had no idea how people in relationships managed to juggle both the workload (and that was when he was only starting out at SHIELD before he became the de facto administrator under Fury) and a relationship.

Then there had been Barton. Barton who questioned his calls and pushed at his boundaries and looked far too intriguing in SHIELD's black ops uniform. Barton who would cradle his bow and call it 'baby' and yet was a trained and supposedly merciless assassin. Barton who had laughed at Coulson's jokes and attempted to finish his paperwork on time and had been known to flirt with anyone.

Taking a look at the surveillance tapes had been a bad idea. He hadn't realized it until, of course, he hit the point of the tapes where Barton had his hand down his pants and was groaning into a pillow. Once he'd started however he found that he was reluctant to stop.

It had made the next week very awkward and Coulson had avoided Barton as much as possible. He had enough paperwork that his avoidance couldn't really be seen so much as avoidance as coming in early, working late, and keeping his office door locked. Oh, he'd had to interact with the Avengers but except for Barton and Agent Romanoff he found it easy to interact impersonally with the team.

It was Romanoff who had spotted what was bothering him.

 _"Those really aren't good for you." She said from behind him. He did not spin around to face her or jump shocked even though he had not heard her step into the break room or creep up behind him. Instead he pulled out his microwave ramen noodles and stirred them up. "You'll get high blood pressure."_

 _"If I don't have it already I doubt I will suddenly contract it." After being around Tony Stark, Coulson knew about high blood pressure. He turned around and found himself cornered against the break room's counter top by Agent Romanoff's body. Had it been anyone else he may have stepped by them or pushed them aside but even he was not about to attempt to do so to the Black Widow. In a fair fight they might be relatively evenly matched but he had no doubt that neither of them would make it fair. "Is there something I can help you with?"_

 _"Clint." That was the good thing about Natasha, for as mysterious as she could be she could also be painfully blunt. "You're driving him crazy, you know, he's going to do something stupid."_

 _Of course. He'd been obvious in his regard and Barton felt pressured, Coulson had known that the fact he had superior status would mean that any revelations about his feelings would lead to improper conduct. Perhaps that was the reason behind the gifts; Barton was hoping he would not force an improper relationship. "I assure you, Miss Romanoff, that was never my intention."_

 _She stared at him until he acknowledged mentally that a normal man would be squirming before she turned and left Coulson to eat his now luke warm and bloated noodles._

It was of course the next day that Clint had injured himself in the field. It had taken every ounce of his formidable self-control not to stalk down to medical and either berate Clint or hover at his bedside. He accessed the security cameras instead to take a quick peek, even though he knew it was only bruised ribs. After assuring himself that Barton would live he settled down to drown himself in forms, and numbers, and ink. Eventually he needed to sleep. The next day he saw that Barton was off active duty until the ribs healed and noted that all of the proper forms had been filed.

He could not, however, hide all day in his office, eventually he had to step outside.

When he returned he found a nearly naked Barton lying on his desk.

Lying there.

He was spread out like some sort of Playgirl centerfold, possibly one aimed at business women or librarians, surrounded by stacks of paper and dutifully signing his name. Coulson had not been aware that one could be struck by an inappropriate erection in the work place, but there it was. He hadn't had an erection so fast since he was a teenager and his hormones were out of control. "Barton." Coulson closed the door behind him and licked his lips. This was wrong, this was all wrong. Was Barton hoping to spark something? Surely he knew that Coulson could not advance his career. "What are you doing?"

Clint looked up and under the fluorescent lights of Coulson's office his eyelashes left long shadows on his cheeks. "Paperwork." Casually, Barton leaned down and scratched at the paper. Coulson's lips thinned. He did not appreciate being played with, or taunted, or seduced in such a manner. It was… it just wasn't right.

And he had no idea how to handle the flux of emotions within him. Lust, rage, hope, love, rejection…

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Barton, but I won't take part and I want no part of it. Please tell Agent Romanoff that her joke is in poor taste." It was only the beginning; he could feel more words stirring up in his chest ready to spill out like knives, word vomit of the angriest sort. Barton said up and looked… surprised? Confused? Yes, both of those.

"Whoa, wait, what does Natasha have to do with it? And this isn't a joke." Coulson snatched up Barton's clothes and strode towards the desk with the package out in front of his body serving as both weapon and shield.

"Do not try to play dumb with me, Barton, now get dressed and-" Barton grabbed his suit jacket. It was a hold Coulson could easily have gotten out of but then Barton did something unexpected (although it should possibly have _been_ expected). Barton kissed him. It was chaste enough, Barton's lips were a little chapped, and it didn't last long at all. It wasn't the kind of kiss you gave someone if you were seducing them. It felt, in Coulson's limited experience, like the kiss of someone who actually _meant_ it.

Well, even if Barton didn't mean it, it wasn't like he was going to get another chance like this. If Barton didn't like him already he'd just have to seduce the other man.

Coulson pushed away and only managed to keep from kissing Barton again by glancing around his office. He was grateful that Barton had piled his paperwork carefully on the floor but he was also all too aware of how unstable those stacks were and of just how vigorously he planned to make love with Clint. "We can't do this here. You'll make a mess."

" _I'll_ make a mess?" Coulson felt his lips twitch in a subtle smile. Barton sounded _defensive_. So he was the messy type, Coulson had figured he would be. "We'll need someplace soundproof from all the noise _you'll_ be making."

A challenge like that, of course, could not go unanswered. "Mm." Coulson glanced from Clint to the piles of paper and then shifted Barton so he could sink to his knees. The jockstrap was clean and white, matching the bandages wrapped tight around Clint's ribs, it smelled faintly of laundry detergent and that deep musky aroma that Coulson supposed was classified as 'guy'. "We'll see about that." He pressed his mouth to Barton's groin and mouthed the hardness barely contained by a thin layer of cotton and spandex. He could almost taste Barton, although all he currently tasted was cloth. On the desk Barton pressed a hand to his mouth to keep from making noise. When Coulson sucked on the cloth and penis Barton _did_ make a noise, a low moan that went straight to both of Coulson's heads.

He slipped his fingers under the elastic and played along the warm flushed skin of Barton's hip and then slipped his hand to cradle Barton's even hotter penis. It was warm and filled with blood and was just the right fit for his hand. Coulson had never felt so… so aroused, or so… well, he hesitated to use terms like 'in love' but he felt something for Barton, something besides lust and friendship.

He undid his own fly easily enough and pulled himself out. He wasn't going to get into a penis context with Barton, instead he directed his eyes to Barton's kiss bruised mouth and set about bruising it a little more while he gripped Barton's ass and pulled him close.

It was surprising how despite the noises they were making and the scraping sounds of his desk being pushed across the floor how no one came to investigate. It was also surprising how no one gave Coulson a second look when he half carried an asleep Barton (hastily dressed in his clothes) to his car and drove off. Clearly there were security measures that needed to be questioned, for everyone's sake. He had thought about taking Barton back to his own windowless and cheerless apartment but it had felt right to bring Barton to his, to place the man in his bed and after stripping down to his boxers (which were soiled slightly but he was too tired to change them) to crawl into bed beside Barton and curl up to go to sleep. Barton moved towards him and clutched faintly at his arms before pressing a cold nose against Phil's shoulder. Coulson tipped Barton's chin back enough to press a kiss to Barton's forehead.

Barton exhaled, and Coulson would have to ask him what kind of mouthwash he used, his breath still smelled of spearmint.


End file.
